


All I Want (for Christmas) is You

by TheStrange_One



Series: 12 Days of Christmas [6]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Some Humor, just a little, little bit of gore, weariness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:33:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21843055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrange_One/pseuds/TheStrange_One
Summary: On the sixth day of Christmas, my True Love gave to me:A present failure, a postal run, a caroling, a blue snow, a fairy tale, and a cute Spideypool story.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: 12 Days of Christmas [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568926
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	All I Want (for Christmas) is You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoltenButterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoltenButterfly/gifts).



> Like the tag says, just a little bit of gore, but there's worse in the comics.

Peter sighed as he whipped the cream while the timer on the oven started going off. He reached over with a foot and pulled the oven door open before setting the bowl down to pull the brownies out of the oven. Then he quickly went back to beating the cream. He needed to whip it _just_ enough to make it thick cream without turning it into butter. Almost—almost—

“How’s it going Tiger,” teased Mary Jane as she leaned against the doorway of the tiny kitchen.

Damn it! Too much! Peter sighed and put the bowl down. Maybe he could salvage it after all? Didn’t he have a recipe that required unsalted sweet cream butter somewhere?

Mary Jane looked at the bowl of half-churned butter on the counter as he dug through his recipe book. “You need to do less multi-tasking,” she commented.

“What I need,” muttered Peter as he flipped through the pages, “is another pair of hands.”

Deadpool, also known as Wade Wilson, gleefully wriggled his toes at the younger man’s comment. He’d set up the little listening bugs weeks ago, hoping to find something he could do to thank Peter for his help earlier. He’d expected it was something he wouldn't be able to do (get an ex to love again or something), but this! He could do this!

He paused in the middle of packing his surveillance equipment as he thought about it. So, Peter needed another pair of hands. Was there any other criteria? Would he mind if those hands came from Deadpool’s marks?

Only one way to find out!

Peter rubbed his eyes as he stumbled down the hall. Work had been especially tiring today. First there had been a (minor) emergency at the lab, and then Jamison was on the warpath—again. Not to mention getting written up for daring to bring “overly religious” treats to the office. And protesting that red and green cream cheese frosting on brownies was in no way religious had resulted in just another write up.

He didn’t know what the woman had against him. He complimented a female coworker on her new hair clip (which did a much better job at keeping her hair away from the materials and Bunsen burners than her previous one) and got written up for sexual harassment. Open a door for someone who’s arms were full? He was clearly being Chauvinistic. Hold the elevator for someone running late but almost there? He was “manipulating the workplace.”

The coworkers in question hadn’t even _complained_ . The female coworker had been pleased and mentioned how she’d gotten the recommendation for the hair clip from her older sister who’d gotten it at a craft fair and how it was the first hair clip she’d ever had that she’d actually needed a manual to use. They’d chatted companionably about it for about five minutes and Peter had even gotten the crafter’s information so he could get one for Mary Jane —who, with her slick, thin hair had the same trouble as the female coworker in _her_ lab. The coworker he’d opened the door for had just thanked him, as had the one he’d held the elevator for. The brownies had disappeared so fast he was surprised the nicknamed “write up” lady had even known the frosting was colored.

He unlocked his door, went into the apartment, and stared. There, on his second-hand coffee table, were two bizarre bouquets, wrapped in red ribbons. He stared for a moment as his exhausted brain comprehended what he was seeing.

Hands. The bouquets were made of _hands_. He dropped his things and scrambled back.

Weasel stared at the lamenting Deadpool in shock and disgust. “You did _what_?” he demanded. “That’s—why?”

“Because he said he wanted an extra pair of hands!”

“It’s an _expression_ Wade,” Weasel said firmly. “He didn’t mean he wanted a _literal_ pair of hands—he meant he wanted someone helping him!”

“Well how was I supposed to know that?” demanded Wade, pouting behind his mask.

“It’s a common expression!”

“But, yeah, listen—he _could_ have been being literal about it. I mean, how was I supposed to know?”

Weasel shook his head and clutched it with a hand. “That poor kid. What did he do to get saddled with you?”

Wade brightened. “I’m glad you asked!”

Ned stared at his best friend. “So, let me get this straight,” he said staring at Peter’s slumped figure. “Someone broke into your apartment and—left you bouquets of severed hands?”

“Divided between right and left hands,” Peter confirmed grimly.

Ned slumped in his own seat. “Wow.”

“Seven hand in each bouquet,” Peter continued.

“Wow.”

“And police confirmed the hands all belonged to known criminals with warrants for behavior I’d rather not go into,” Peter added.

“Wow.” Ned thought for a moment. “And—you have no idea who did it?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I know who did it,” he said crisply. “I even know _why_ . I _don’t_ know what to do about it!”

“Who? Why?”

“Deadpool. He must have my place bugged and heard me tell Mary Jane that I needed another pair of hands.” Peter grimaced as Ned burst out laughing. “Oh, laugh it up.”

“That explains why you’re at my place,” Ned said, still grinning. “So you’re being stalked by the guy you like. What are you going to do?”

Peter groaned and threw his head back over the couch. “I don’t know…” he lamented.

Wade shuffled his feet after knocking on the door. Weasel was convinced this was a good idea—but Weasel ran a bar for mercenaries that were more than capable enough of killing him if they wanted, so he wasn’t the best judge of things. Just as he was about to bolt the door opened.

The sleepy looking brunette peered out of the apartment and blinked at him. “Deadpool?” he asked.

Oh, right. The kid didn’t even know his name. Wade thrust the flowers at him. “I’m sorry the police confiscated your coffee table,” he said.

Peter looked at the bouquet in his hand. “Does that contain any human body parts at all?” he asked.

“Just flowers,” Wade said meekly.

“Good.” Peter grabbed the arm holding the bouquet and dragged the merc inside, closing the door behind them. “Thanks.”

“Baby boy, you look asleep on your feet,” Wade said. He set the bouquet down on the nearest surface to the door (the couch) and timidly reached for Peter—who was still holding his arm.

Peter snuggled to the man’s arm. “Am tired. Sleepy.”

Wade’s heart began to beat faster. “Maybe you should go to bed,” he said softly.

Peter made a soft noise of disagreement. “Only if you come with me,” he said.

No. Peter couldn't be asking what Wade thought he was asking for—

He wasn’t. When Peter said, “Come with me,” he meant, “come be my body pillow because I’m tired.” Wade laid in the bed, fully dressed, next to Peter who gave a low hum. “This is nice,” Peter said softly.

“Yeah?” asked Wade. Tentatively he reached out to smooth some hair out of Peter’s face.

“All I wanted,” sighed Peter leaning into the touch and falling asleep.


End file.
